Captain's Log, Supplemental
DDSN-X100 USS Discovery
Commander Valerie Grey recording
Christening Date plus 9 days
Squadron Rec-Room, mid-warp pursuit of Marduk
The rec-room smelled of burnt coffee and nervous sweat. I was strapped into one of the crash seats that had folded out from the aft wall, flight suit half-zipped, boots on the low table, watching the main wall screen that fed the bridge feed. The rest of the Raptors were doing the same thing—some pacing, some pretending to play cards, all of us pretending we weren't counting down the seconds.
"Thirty seconds to mark," Captain Nolan's voice came over the ship-wide. Steady. Always steady.
I glanced at the chrono on the wall. Nine days since christening. We were in full warp chase after Marduk's fleet, the silver thread of their wake stretching ahead on the plot. The gravimetric drive thrummed through the deck plates like a living thing, low and hungry.
Lieutenant Jack "Blackjack" McCain dropped into the seat beside me, nudging my boot off the table. "You look like you're about to puke, Valkyrie."
"Watch it, Blackjack," I said, the corner of my mouth twitching despite everything. "I'm still your squadron commander."
On the screen the stars were already starting to stretch. The drive's low thrum vibrated through the deck and up into my teeth. I gripped the armrest tighter than I meant to.
"Ten seconds," Nolan said.
The lights dimmed to tactical red. Someone in the back muttered a prayer. I kept my eyes open. I wasn't going to miss this.
"Mark."
The drive roared.
Space folded smoothly. The stars smeared into clean white arcs, then the familiar blue-white bubble of warp space enveloped us. The violent lurch settled into the steady, almost comforting hum of a stable transit. We were inside the warp-space bubble now—safe, contained, racing after Marduk's fleet toward the Asteroid Belt.
The crash seats hissed as the restraints released. I unstrapped and stood, rolling my shoulders, the tension bleeding out of me in a long breath.
Blackjack stretched beside me, cracking his neck. "Well that was boring. I was hoping for fireworks, Valkyrie."
Kaze dropped her boots to the deck with a thud. "Speak for yourself, Blackjack. I like boring. Boring means we're not dead."
Dragon leaned back in his seat, arms behind his head, grinning. "Ten bucks says the captain calls us to the ready room in five minutes to tell us we're still chasing Marduk's ghost through the ice."
I laughed, the sound shaky with relief. "You're on, Dragon. I'll take that bet. He's probably already planning the next patrol sweep."
Jinx wandered over, tablet in hand, offering a small smile. "I'll hold the bets. Rookie owes me twenty from last sim anyway."
We milled around the rec-room, the squadron loosening up now that the immediate danger had passed. Someone started a fresh pot of coffee. Blackjack and Kaze fell into their usual banter about who had the worst landing the last time we practiced in the ice fields. Dragon just shook his head, watching them with that quiet Marine amusement. Rookie hovered near the edge, still finding his place among us.
I walked to the viewport, staring out at the swirling blue-white of the warp-space bubble. The Asteroid Belt was still hours away. We'd made the jump successfully. The ship was intact. The crew was alive.
For the first time in days, the knot in my chest eased a little.
Then the ship lurched—violent, sudden, like something had grabbed the hull and yanked.
The deck tilted hard. I was thrown sideways, slamming into the bulkhead. Coffee mugs flew. The lights flickered, then died. Emergency red kicked in. Alarms screamed—deep, urgent, the kind that meant the ship was fighting for its life.
Gravity fluctuated wildly, pulling me off my feet again. I grabbed a handhold, heart hammering.
The main screen flashed white, then black, then went completely dead. Every console went dark. The ship's reactors scrammed with a deep, dying groan that echoed through the hull. We were adrift, power failing, tumbling through the Oort Cloud.
I pushed myself up, helmet already in hand. The rest of the squadron scrambled with me, boots pounding the deck as we sprinted for the hangar.
The next week blurred into a rhythm of constant motion.
By day one the ship was still tumbling from residual shear, reactors offline, power on emergency batteries only. We ran constant patrols through the ice fields—simulated intercepts, formation flying, emergency fold abort drills. The captain had been knocked unconscious in the initial jolt and was still in med bay recovering. We kept the squadron busy—drilling the new pilots who'd joined just before the rift, running sensor sweeps, practicing zero-g boarding with Reyes' marines. No one talked about how far from home we might be. We just flew CAP around the disabled ship, keeping watch while engineering worked to bring the reactors back online.
By day three the ship was stable enough for limited flight ops. We kept the squadron busy—drilling the new pilots who'd joined just before the rift, running sensor sweeps, practicing zero-g boarding with Reyes' marines. No one talked about how far from home we might be. We just flew.
On day five I was coming off a long patrol when I caught sight of the captain in the ready room, talking quietly with Commander Halsy and Dr. Leanne Nolan. They looked tired but determined. Whatever had happened, we were still Discovery. Still a crew.
I stripped off my gloves and joined the line for coffee. Blackjack slid in beside me.
"Think we'll get home?" he asked quietly.
I looked out the viewport at the endless field of ice and rock, then back at the squadron bay where my fighter waited, already fueled for the next sortie.
"We're still flying," I said. "That's home enough for now."
The rift had taken us somewhere new.
We would find our way back the same way we always had—together, one flight at a time.